Ψ SLASHCRAFT: A Life Non-Cubic Ψ
by Encore19
Summary: Sean Bennett is a creative player who enjoys constructing masterpieces and controlling the time of day. After a peculiar glitch he finds himself in a dangerous, survival world - Dylan Fletcher's world. Sean doesn't know the ins and outs of the more brutal side of Minecraft. He'll need to depend on his brash, roguish and handsome companion to survive. SLASH m/m
1. 。Taking Inventory

。

 **Ψ -** **SLASHCRAFT: A LIFE NON-CUBIC** **\- Ψ**

* * *

Δ 。。。 _CHAPTER 1: Taking Inventory_ 。。。 Δ

。Φ 。

* * *

I'd played this game enough that I knew what was happening with confidence. The first few moments of spawning as your brand new world loaded around you. Each new session was like being reborn, memories of before were usually hazy at best, but since I'd played this game enough there was no confusion or fear in those first moments. My body and mind materialized out of the void, the land spread out before me, slowly generating in increments. When my washed-anew mind became mine again there was no disorientation – even with the substantial memory loss it seemed we still retained our deepest experience somewhere.

Then I paused. Everything was crisp clear around me – sunlight filtering through leaves, trees moving in the wind, and soft green grass beneath my bare feet. A frown, _this is wrong_. I looked around. I was in an oak tree forest biome, and so what, I'd started in them at least four times before. This was different though. Still frozen in place I turned my head, blinking at my surroundings. This mind was new, like this world, but my instincts were telling me something was very wrong and I should be worried.

I took my first few tentative steps forward, hunched cautiously as I examined each tree, each blade of grass. I saw a gathering of yellow dandelion flowers to my left. I heard the snort of a nearby pig, unseen. The gentle breeze came by again and I inhaled the earthy scent of woodland. Stopping by a tall oak I reached out and pressed my hands against the grooves of its surface.

"It's so realistic."

 _That was it!_ The realisation hit me with sudden clarity. I'd only ever played in block worlds before this one. The world around me wasn't cubic, it screamed with detail and very natural formations.

"Huh…" I muttered to myself, trying to make light but aware of the nagging unease inside me.

I'd never played in a regular-looking world before, I hadn't thought creative worlds could be regular-looking. Wasn't it a setting thing? Leaning in I rested my forearm against the wood above my head, trying to clear it, trying to remember what I'd been thinking before I came here. I wracked my brain and nothing occurred to me. Spawning and respawning wiped out virtually everything, sometimes at weird moments or when sleeping random pre-death memories would resurface. It hadn't bothered me before now… but this time was different.

Pushing off the tree I started walking again, hoping the cloud of worry would clear. This world was undeniably beautiful, I thought while eying the scenery. I wasn't used to such detail, and this was only just the inside of a forest. Maybe I had opted for this world, a whim to shake things up. Or maybe… a glitch.

I shook off the fearful thought as it shivered through me.

Another sound was soon audible, not a friendly unseen mob. It was a running stream. I adjusted my course, walked faster and around a few more trunks and up a slight, non-brick-like incline. More of the yellow dandelions by water rushing down from a stone cliff-face some twenty metres to my right, I could see it over the tops of the trees.

Crouching down on one knee I examined the water. It was crystal clear, like liquid glass. How weird. Water should always be blue.

Through the shifting surface I could see my face, crouching down to peer at my reflection. My body was non-cubic, obviously. I think you could opt for a box-body, like it was one of the settings, but even in my box worlds I'd chosen a detailed body. You could still pick things up without fingers, but it was strange and had other drawbacks, it wasn't an option that would be checked often I'd imagine. These thoughts came to me out of nowhere, flashes of insight. I blinked my eyes, they were a sky blue, lighter in shade than the colour that this water should've been. My butter-blonde hair was short and lighter than my dark eyebrows, I could see the edges of my plain tunic on thin shoulders, the bland brown clothes I'd probably planned to have hidden in diamond armour the moment I'd arrived.

I could hear the clucking of a chicken, flapping its wings in the water somewhere down-stream, bathing and playing. I looked up, arching my brows at the nearest dandelion, swaying in a breeze. It looked pretty. I wanted to keep it, reaching forward I plucked it from its stem.

Several things happened at once: I mentally examined my inventory, the non-physical gaming abstraction sealed in my mind-space and realised it was empty and I realised what that meant, the vague anxiety broke free of its foggy wall into full-blown horror, and I heard the whoosh of air, an angry hiss, followed by a loud sizzling.

"Get out of there!" A deep voice called out to me.

In panic I launched off my foot, turning as I leapt through air. I saw a hideous green 'thing', four stumpy legs and lumpy-saggy flesh, it was flashing rapidly and then exploded while I was still mid-air. _Wham_ , the blast wave knocked into me and I felt pain – something I'd never experienced while playing this game before.

I hit the other side of the stream, my lower torso in the water, pants soaked. Across from me there was a deep hole, layers of dirt revealing stone at the bottom, water flooding in to fill it, small intangible cubes hovered around it, only visible to players. I was panting, panic making my heart race and eyes wide. In my mind's eye I could see my health bar, that row of hearts that had never changed: two were missing. The food bar above it jiggled nervously.

I was sitting up when he came running over. Lifting my chin I saw a tall boy around my age, he was a brunette with dark eyes, tanner skin than mine and he was staring at me quizzically. I noticed brown leather pants and cap, his spiky hair messy from under it. In one hand he held a bow. _Another player_.

"Holy shit." I pulled my feet out of the water.

"You're another player." He said in that deep voice, a chesty baritone. He indicated to me with his bow. "What are you doing here?"

"What the hell was that thing?" My voice was shaky. I looked up and saw him arch an eyebrow at me.

"A creeper?" He said it like I was stupid. "I was stalking it before I saw you, just testing out my archery skills, and then I saw it was stalking _you_. You really shouldn't let your guard down, you know. If I hadn't shot it when I did it would've exploded right behind you. Then you'd be like I was a couple minutes ago: dead." He frowned at me. "So what are you doing here?"

I kept staring at him a couple seconds more, and then I slowly got my feet under and raised myself. He was about half-a-head taller.

"This is wrong… this was supposed to be a creative world. I'm not a survival player."

"This was supposed to be a solo world, _my_ solo world." He frowned at me. "You shouldn't be here."

"Oh my God," I started pacing, trying to stop myself from freaking out and failing. "Oh my God! Something's fucked up! And I'm stuck here! I can't play survival! I don't know how! The earliest I'd rig a world to last would be something like… twenty years! I can't be stuck in this place for that long! Dying over and over and over again, getting hunted by _monsters_! What the fuck am I going to do?" I stopped suddenly, a dull ache in my belly that I'd never felt before. I mentally scanned my food row: one meat down, the second symbol fading.

The boy just stared at me, I was clutching my stomach and scowling.

"Did you just get here?" He asked, I turned to him and nodded. "It probably has something to do with me dying. You probably spawned here when I respawned."

"Oh! You were here before me? So you would've already been playing a while right?"

"I can't remember a thing." He shrugged. "If we find the XP I dropped when I was killed I'd be able to remember."

"Do you remember where you died?" I watched him shrug again.

"Nope."

"Any flashes? Any idea? Anything?"

"Nope."

"Gah," I was exasperated. "Do you remember where your house is?"

"I don't even remember what it looks like, or if I had one." He confessed. "That's what happens when you die."

"So you're telling me you remember _nothing_ about this world?" I said louder than I'd meant to. He just narrowed his eyes at me. I sighed again and continued my pacing. "What a way to play a game."

"I like it. Makes it more challenging."

"How long do you think you made this session to last?"

"I don't know. Would be a couple of years, at least."

I stopped moving, closed my eyes, pinched the bridge of my nose. Willed myself to be calm again and had more success than the first time.

"Okay…" I was saying, trying to be practical-minded instead of hysterical "Okay…"

The other boy was still staring at me, still frowning. If he'd spawned at the same time I had then it meant that while I was walking through the oak trees dazedly he'd been: killing cows for leather and food, killing spiders for the web in his bow, mining gravel for the flint in his arrows. I stared at him, my breathing was slower but still lifting my chest.

"My name's Sean." I said. "Thanks for saving me."

"Dylan." He said, head jerking back. I watched him turn around and start walking. "You're welcome. Good luck."

"H-hey!?" I called out in shock. He stopped and turned around looking legitimately surprised. "Where are you going?"

His eyes moved to the side and then back to me.

"That way." He indicated with his thumb.

"Didn't you hear me? I don't know how to play survival worlds!"

This time he sighed with exasperation "Come along then." He turned and continued on his way.

I paused, miffed, but then quickly hurried after him.

I glanced nervously at the woodland around us while Dylan just stared ahead, moving confidently forward with bow in hand. I didn't say anything for a while, I kept pace beside him while squirming and fidgeting. After a minute or so I glanced at the other boy's face, those dark eyes forward. This guy was the only other person in the session, a session filled with monsters and madness, a session that probably stretches out many times larger than Earth itself. Millions of kilometres in every direction and only one other human, walking here beside me, looking like he'd prefer not to be.

More minutes passed and we were still walking through oak woods in silence. I saw a wild sheep chewing up a patch of grass. With a sudden groan of pain I stopped, clutching my tummy as the pain deepened. Two, three meats gone off the food row. Dylan stopped and stared at me. He reached back and then pulled a bloody hunk of meat out of nothingness, extending his arm he offered it to me with a dip of his head.

"What the hell is that?" I eyed the butchered animal-piece with disgust.

"Food."

"I'm not eating that."

"You'd rather starve?" He studied my face. "Suit yourself." He put his arm back and the meat vanished along with the red juices that were dripping down his hand. I followed Dylan when he started walking again, hand still rubbing my gut.

"Hey, where are we going?" I asked tentatively.

"Looking for a place to set up camp. Maybe a cave. A place where enemy mobs can't hide so easily, like a better biome." He answered with eyes forward, then he looked at me with a harsh smile "First night's always the hardest."

I stared forward, daunted.

"Hey… I don't suppose you remember what this world's difficulty setting is?"

"Hard. They're always on Hard."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I always play Hard."

"Lovely." I felt my lips press together into a thin line.

* * *

。Φ 。

* * *

 **AN: Please review if you want more! Tell me what you think! And forewarning: this will end up getting explicit :O**


	2. 。Getting Wood

。

Δ 。。。 _CHAPTER 2: Getting Wood_ 。。。 Δ

。Φ 。

* * *

We walked for hours and the biome barely changed. A few times I saw plains, flat grassland stretching away from us into distant rolls like a spun-out blanket. I pointed to the wispy grass fields but Dylan simply shook his head once and continued on. I remember how much I'd prized grassland biomes in old worlds, how great they were for building. I'd set up towns in them and then connect them with passages, roads, tunnels… They weren't so good here though, Dylan distractedly mumbled about how too many monsters spawned there at night.

So we wanted somewhere open but not that open. Alright.

Mostly we said nothing. I was too nervous, worrying about my situation to try to pull him into discussion. The more glimpses I got from the past the more things I remembered about myself as well. I was a natural communicator, it was weird to be in the company of someone who didn't like talking. I was fluent, well-spoken. Dylan trudged forward with his hunter-proficiency, a lone-wolf type who'd opted for a challenging, solo world. I'd never socialized with players like these. He didn't want to talk, and I knew he didn't actually want me here, dragging him down. He was letting me tag along for now, but I knew it was a chore.

At the very least his air of experience was making me feel a little safer. A little.

Suddenly he stopped and I turned to him. The bow was gone from his hand and in its place a wooden axe. He was staring beside us, through the trees at a black-wool sheep as it bleated, looked around, starting chewing at the grass. He sauntered over to the animal and it didn't even acknowledge him, only looking up when he lifted the axe over his head.

"What are you doing?!" I screamed, too late, the axe came down and it was grizzly – just like I knew it would be in this detailed world.

The animal shrieked, blood splattered. Dylan mechanically swung the axe again, and again, sickening squelches and dying chokes. Then suddenly the animal and the gore was gone. I saw a small black cube of wool, a piece of raw mutton and a single glowing orb disappear into his body. When he turned around to me again he looked emotionless. We stared at each other.

"What? We'll need wool for a bed."

"That… this place is horrible." I shook my head, eyes still wide. I couldn't reconcile killing the friendly mobs I'd used to feed and build houses for in earlier worlds. They didn't even know to run from you unless you hit them first. Dylan shrugged at me again, his usual response.

"You sure you don't want food? Your food bar must be almost gone by now."

I was, in fact, in a lot of pain. But I'd been braving it out, clutching my stomach and grimacing along. A few times my stomach had made audible gurgling sounds, although neither of us had acknowledged it during our walk.

"I'm fine, thank you." I said and he turned and continued off and I knew he wouldn't ask again.

My scowl deepened – if my pain got any worse I'd have no choice but to eat that raw bloody meat.

We continued on our way, any sheep unlucky enough to cross our path was hacked apart by Dylan. Once in a while we'd hear innocent bleating and then he'd veer off course, I'd keep walking, eyes straight ahead, and when he was finished and the sounds of murder were over I'd stop and wait for him to walk by me and then we'd keep moving again without a word. One time he also stopped to butcher a pig. The squeals hurt my ears.

A rocky cliff-face came into view over the tree-line and I sighed in relief, the sun was close to the western horizon. Not enough to orange the sky but enough to make me nervous. Dylan pulled out one of the raw meats and bit into it, what looked like blood trickled down his chin, he had to tug back, ripping off a bite with his teeth. Surprisingly, it made me less hungry. He was chewing when I flicked my head to the right and screamed. I sprang up like a cat and dived at Dylan, clinging to shoulders and huddling into him.

"Sam? The fuck?" He looked alarmed.

Then he looked at what frightened me. A humongous, black, red-eight-eyed spider. Its carapace was shiny black, scuttling along on thin legs, looking up at the treetops with its round head. It looked over at us, studying, its pincers clicking. I almost fainted.

Dylan pushed me off. "It's just a spider. They won't attack us while the sun's up."

I kept staring at it. It wasn't looking at us anymore, glowing eyes on the tree-tops again. It scuttled one way and then turned around and vanished into the woods.

"Shit." I crouched down and tried to get a hold of my breathing. When I looked up Dylan was staring at me, frowning in that same way. It was a perplexed frown and it seemed to always be on his face whenever he regarded me. "Sorry… I'm really not used to this. I've never played survival – and my name is Sean! Not Sam!"

"Whatever."

"Can we stop here? Like is this close enough? I can see a Cliffside right there, we can dig into it and hide out the night."

He turned his head to the rocky landform, thought, and nodded. He started towards it and I sighed in relief, following him. We stopped by the base, it towered about fifteen blocks (metres) above us. Dylan turned and splayed his hand and a crafting table appeared. I knew about them, I knew about that much from survival worlds from talking to creative players who'd tried them out, usually on peaceful mode. I'd made good friends in co-op worlds.

I remembered them and I also remembered that game glitches were a thing. Players liked to talk about the rare glitches they'd seen and share their stories, water source cubes spawning in mid-air, entire land sections remaining unformed. Never had I heard of a glitch sending a new player into a wrong session though – someone else's session. This story would forever beat anyone else's, in terms of horror and intrigue.

The three-by-three grid began to glow a lavender colour and I saw the outline of a tool being formed: sticks put in place, wood blocks assembled, and then Dylan was reaching forward to the hologram of a wooden pick-axe and suddenly it was solid and very real in his hand. He turned away and to the mountain, lifting it over his head and smashing with the pick, his arm and back muscles going taut beneath his black shirt, the same mechanical movements he'd displayed while killing that sheep. I watched him, when enough stone was chipped away the pieces vanished and another cube was sucked into his body.

"Um, Dylan… what do you want me to do?" I asked awkwardly.

"Start getting resources." He answered without turning back.

"Okay," I answered quietly, too quietly for him to hear.

I looked around and then approached a tree. I stopped and curled over in pain, almost on my last jiggling meat-symbol. It was good we'd spent the whole journey walking, I'd conserved my strength, but by now it was almost gone. I straightened again, my scowl feeling like it was etching its way permanently into my face.

I punched the tree and it thudded, wooden _thunk_. I punched it again, and again, and again. The bark started to split. I got myself angry then, thinking of Dylan, resenting him for thinking I was such a nuisance. For believing me to be useless. I kept hammering at the tree with my fists and felt my knuckles going numb, after a goodly amount of beating the wood cracked and split, a large section vanishing, and then the top of the tree lurched. I cried out and jumped back as it tipped, smacking into its neighbour before rolling off and meeting ground.

I was on my ass. The neighbouring tree shuddered but remained upright. I looked over my shoulder but Dylan hadn't even turned to look at me. I got even angrier at him then, and my embarrassment burned brighter, turning my neck crimson hot.

Jumping up I bashed in each segment of the tree, kicking as well as punching, until the entire thing was gone. The bushy leaves were vanishing and left floating saplings but no apples. The horizon was beginning to orange. I needed to eat now.

Sighing in defeat I skulked to where Dylan had picked an impressive hole into the rock-face. It went about six metres in, I saw a bed, furnace and chest in one corner, he was still pulverising away at rock in the other corner. I stopped inside the dark cave and he turned around.

"Here," He offered a cooked steak.

I blinked and took it. It was barely warm by now but a whole lot better than raw. He was already back to swinging his pickaxe and I saw it was a new one - stone. I was too bewildered to thank him.

"Oh. You found coal."

"No, I made charcoal." He glanced back at me when another section of the wall disappeared, a thin sheen of sweat making his tanned skin shiny. "I made it out of wood?"

I nodded once, confused.

"Don't we need coal for torches? Because otherwise monsters will just, like, appear in here right?"

"You can make torches with charcoal." He said with a _calm-down_ tone of voice. He went back to his picking.

"Oh. Alright."

"There's more meat in the chest."

The food was delicious, I ate it while wandering back outside. Utterly without flavour and very chewy, but delicious. When I got to swallowing most of it I could see four meats replenish and I felt immediately better. I went back inside with more energy and crouched by the chest, unlatching and opening the lid. Another grid of squares, some of them containing symbols equivalent to meat. I touched it and willed them into my physically-abstract inventory. The symbol vanished and the product was transferred. Fancy.

I went back outside and polished off a piece of cooked mutton, dropping the small shank bone in the grass. Then I ate a cooked pork-chop which restored my food bar completely, my row of little red hearts were healing. I thought about the pig from before, squealing as it died, its meat cooked and then eaten by me. I felt only a little bad, then decided to forget it and approached the crafting table that was still sitting out here with me in the dusk-light.

Once I was close to the blocky table I splayed my hand like Dylan had and felt myself link up. The three-by-three grid illuminated with lavender light and I found I could control it easily with my intention. I willed the wooden blocks from my inventory into the centre square and then transformed them one-at-a-time but in rapid succession into sixteen blocks of oak planks that I stored back inside me.

I looked up at the navy-blue sky and felt a chill of fear, I hurried back under cover. Dylan was around and out of view, working proficiently while I'd fumbled around nearby. I placed the planks into the chest, my meagre contribution. So what now? There was nothing to do inside. I thought about mining with Dylan and felt a swell of awkwardness. No…

I shifted on my feet, deliberating, and then headed back outside in time to spot a creeper peering up over a bump of land. Green misshapen head popped up like a weasel, sunken eye-sockets and tiny square teeth in black gums. It jerked its head around from about twelve metres away, not seeing me, and I ran straight to Dylan in a panic.

He sighed when I told him, marched off to deal with it while I tip-toed some ways behind him, warning him to be careful and getting ignored. He crouched around the corner of rock, drew his bow, fired. The creeper jumped once, startled, looking around. The arrow was lodged into its lumpy flesh. Dylan drew the bow again, and again, trained eye hitting the mark another two times with the _thung_ sound of his string and the monster vanished. Dylan stood back up. I unclenched but didn't look away from where it'd been. Dylan just glanced up at the sky.

"Suppose it's getting dark." He wandered back to our cave. I followed behind him, feeling foolish.

I watched him crouch down in that leather gear, checking the contents of the chest, frowning at my efforts. He straightened, wooden axe appearing in hand, and marched back out, again without saying anything.

I didn't go out again. I sat on the bed and waited, the mattress and red quilt felt thin but comfortable. It was almost too dark in here to see colours. I got nervous. Standing up I paced around and then thought to check the furnace. I opened the cobbled door, manually, and saw a square at the bottom that held its fuel source. It smelt smoky in here, like charcoal, and the inside was already black with soot. I touched it and removed one of the three pieces of charcoal stored magically inside. In my mind's eye it looked similar to coal but flaky and weaker at burning. I took some of my wood from the chest.

Then I peered out carefully, saw Dylan hacking away at the nearby tree-line. I almost sprinted to the crafting table and when I got there I assembled some sticks and then made four torches with the charcoal. I ran back and then pulled out a torch, it clung to whatever I pressed it against and only lit up after I let go. I stretched to put one high-up in each corner, their flickering fires illuminating our temporary living space. It made me feel better to do something useful.

Not long after I saw Dylan coming back to the house, stopping to chop apart the crafting table, collect it and then continuing on. It was practically night and my anxiety was restless as the other boy, my only chance of safety and survival, returned at a casual and care-free pace as the stars became visible overhead. I wondered then if he'd really be able to help me, or would he be taken by surprise, killed and then leave me alone to… I don't know… bury myself until sunlight. Curled into a ball and rocking while monsters stalked overhead, having to hide and hide and hide, every night until the session expired. After _years_.

Wordlessly he walked by me, a man in his own house, one he built, and splayed his hand and the crafting table appeared beside the furnace. I moved to sit down on the bed and watched him. Dylan's dark eyes were focused on the purple holograms, I saw him making more wood planks, making a door, eyes not moving to meet mine. He stepped away, splayed his hand and quickly filled in the opening with the wooden planks, leaving a two-by-one space that he flicked his hand at with a lazy swish, door appearing with a _thunk_ , he went back immediately to the crafting table.

I felt better again, now indoors. My heart-rate slowed as I watched Dylan's single-minded and dismissive focus. My mind began to wander as I watched him craft. Sword pieces assembled, reaching out and taking stone sword, it vanished and he started on a new pick-axe. We were stuck in this one room together now, it was much too dark to go outside. We didn't have enough charcoal to makes torches for mining either. So now… waiting.

My mind wandered as I observed my sole companion, working and ignoring me. Tough, experienced and practical… his arms, shoulders and neck were brazenly strong. He took off his leather cap and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. His untidy chestnut hair was just short enough to stick upright in several places. I found myself looking harder at the rest of his features, the straight nose, the chin that was broader than mine but still fairly narrow. His tan skin that seemed smooth all over.

I'd noticed before, obviously. I'd noticed the first time I saw him. And then we talked and walked together through the forest and I noticed a little more. I'd been too wrought with panic to notice completely until that moment, sitting on the bed and feeling (relatively) calm.

Dylan was very good-looking. A kind of jarring attractive. The kind of looks you'd pull your friend aside for and point to as subtly as possible, seeing a stranger like that going by. It was a very solid, grounded, roguish appeal that – I remembered at that moment – was _my_ type, exactly my type of guy. A type of guy that women went for, a type of guy that wouldn't like me.

Dylan wasn't looking at me even though I'd been staring at him, a flurry of nerves tickled my insides and I had to turn away from him anyway.

* * *

。Φ 。

* * *

 **AN: I really wanted to have smut in this chapter. How hilarious would that have been! 'Getting Wood', ha! Unfortunately I ran out of space but oh well, this is a slow burner compared to my other stuff. And I suppose wood was got, just not in the fun way.**

 **Thanks so much to IncompleteKid for reviewing! Your review made me want to write more. Readers, please review.**


	3. 。Benchmarking

。

Δ 。。。 _CHAPTER 3: Benchmarking_ 。。。 Δ

。Φ 。

* * *

The handsome lad finished his crafting after a while with a pair of leather boots. They appeared in his hand and he walked around me, also moving to sit on the bed, raising me up beside him and making the butterflies in me flutter-swarm. I couldn't help it. I knew there was a lot about him that was unsavoury – he killed animals, he liked fighting monsters, he didn't like socializing, or even talking. It was a bit shallow to allow myself a secret moment of giddiness over just his looks, but I didn't care. I watched Dylan replace his simple black shoes, pulling the more detailed boots over his feet, doing up the laces wordlessly.

"Remember anything yet?" I tried. He didn't answer right away, kept tying his laces.

"Nope." He said. I didn't want to nag, just wanted to find something to talk about.

"So… I suppose we can't just skip to day-time right? Like I used to before." I watched him pause before slipping his other shoe off.

"Not with one bed. If you hadn't distracted me the first time we saw a sheep we would've been able to." His oddly deep voice was enough to give me thrills, when he spoke at a low volume like that it rumbled like distant thunder. He tugged the other boot on and I frowned. From our closeness I could smell him: outdoorsy, the tang of the leather.

"Look I know I'm getting in the way of you levelling up, or finding your house again, or whatever" I said, exasperated "but I'm sorry. This was a freak thing that happened, out of my control."

He shrugged while doing up the laces, then leaned back straight and rested his arms on the thighs I couldn't stop glancing at. I stared at him, waiting for him to say something.

"Don't worry about it. It's not like you're gonna be here long, anyway." He got up and I blanched.

How wrong I'd been. Foolish. I was a sheltered creative player who needed sheltering. I just assumed this person capable of taking on monsters would want to keep me safe, help me, pity me. Dylan was wandering away and I knew that once again we hadn't quite been on the same page. He was going to let me stay, a few days tops, and then was going to ask me to leave. Or, probably, he'd leave me this ramshackle house, his final good deed, and then be off adventuring alone like he wanted. I shouldn't have expected him to want me around, but I _needed_ him around.

So what do I do?

He doesn't particularly like me. I had nothing to offer. I doubt I could befriend someone who simply doesn't like people. But I _need_ him. I knew that. Being out here alone (I could already hear noises out in the dark, terrifying noises) simply was not an option. I didn't know how to fight, nor how to build most things with that mysterious crafting bench. I lacked the street-smarts of a survival world, so to speak. I'd be left a savage, miserably feeding on the animals I'd once loved and hiding out the nights in fear. _I need him_. I didn't think using guilt would work. I could try reasoning, but there was no logical argument that sprang to mind. I could appeal to his sense of morality, but doubted that would go well – I'd almost exhausted the morals of a recluse barbarian as is. I felt myself twitching where I sat, thinking furiously. _I had nothing to offer_.

"Stay put." Dylan's voice snapped me back into reality. "I mean, obviously, where else are you gonna go? But stay here. If you get bored, practice with the crafting bench or something." He was standing by the door holding his stone sword, leather cap back on and ruffling his shock of hair.

My eyes widened and head jerked back, alarmed.

"Where are you going?" I demanded in a rush. "Outside? To fight them?"

"Not much else to do."

"Stay here!"

"Why?" He snapped, angrily. Looking at me with that perplexed look again, like he just couldn't understand me.

"…You don't even have a full set of armour yet. They'll kill you!"

"I've done this for a long time." _Calm down_.

"You only just died! Your memories-"

"It'll come back to me when I'm out there." Peeved.

"The difficulty setting is Hard and you're using a stone sword!"

"Look, Sam-Sean-whatever!" He raised his voice. "I don't care, okay? I know what I'm doing. I'm going out there." He snapped assertively.

I stared.

"You don't care if you die…?" I whispered. _…and leave me alone_. The second part unsaid.

"No." He shook his head, looking around the room with that same exasperation. "So what? I've got barely anything on me worth keeping. If I die I'll just start again, so what?"

Start again and be rid of me. That would almost be ideal. I imagined him not sneaking but charging fearlessly into a monster mass, just testing himself because what did it matter if he died? He'd start again and forget all about me. If I had nerves of steel I'd just walk out after him, let the monsters feed on me so we could both start over. But I'd never do that. I'm scared of being hurt.

Dylan seemed confident in his own skill, but I could read on his face that he knew there was a chance if he went out that door he would die and respawn. It was just a risk he was willing to take. Better than sitting here and waiting for the sun to rise with me. He disliked my company _that_ much.

He was decided, body inclined to the door, at any moment he was going to open that handle and be gone. I stood up, mind blinking like a strobe. _I need him_.

"Dylan!" I cried out, and rushed toward him. I recognized the alarm from before, him stepping back against the door, scared I was going to hug him.

I stood up on tip-toes to kiss him instead. For less than a second I tasted salt from soft lips, his scent invaded my nostrils, almost cloying in its peculiarity, a pleasant savoury. But the shove conveyed his disgust, I flew back and almost fell over. He was alarmed, but finally the perplexing look shifted to recognition.

"You're a queer." Too shocked to escape, for now. I stepped forward to close our distance some more. He cringed away from me.

"Don't go, please." My hands twitched up and down, deliberating on reaching for him but he was dangerously tense. I could see his brain still whirring from the surprise. In another moment he'd be out that door and would never come back. I made my decision. "Please." My voice went steady as I got down on my knees for him, reaching for the edge of his leather pants. He flailed my hands away, squirmed for the door handle but was pressed against it, I was too close, and he couldn't pull it open.

"The fuck!" hands scratching the wood in search for that handle. Slapping mine away but I persisted, found the shoe-lace-rope by his crotch, loosened it with one finger swipe, got his pants down quite easily.

I went for his flaccid cock, I put it in my mouth and it was his taste: salty-savoury, not unpleasant. Dylan froze and my eyes were clenched shut, my whole body tensed for the punch that would knock me away. When it didn't come I bobbed my head fervently, his shaft still soft but quite long considering. I slowed my movements, and then finally peeked upward after more seconds of screaming silence went by.

Dylan was outraged, unmoving, utterly dumbstruck.

My hands went up to feel his waist, his thighs. "Please," I begged with his dick in my mouth. Rocking back and forth again, desperately, knowing that soon the shock would pass. I rolled my tongue over his soft, un-reacting flesh, kept it wet, stimulated the head. Enjoyed his taste. Tried desperately to enjoy it and hoped he would too.

He still hadn't moved and I think I knew what it was. Dylan wasn't gay. But I didn't think he was the kind of guy who thought much about sex, either. When you're a lone-wolf type, hunting and training in solo worlds, there was no girls around and no opportunity. How many solo worlds had Dylan played, engrossed in nothing but monster-slaying, and how long had it been since someone had touched his dick, given him pleasure, serviced him?

So no, he wasn't gay. Those dark eyes held a mix of fear, maybe an urge to smack me, maybe an urge to cry, maybe… something else. When he still hadn't moved he finally flushed red and hard all over, so much that I could see it through his tan skin, brightening his cheeks like apples. And then he punched me.

I hit the floor sideways with a thud, my cheek burning, a heart vanishing but then healing itself in two beats, making my food bar jiggle. When I went down Dylan pounced over me like a cat, getting away and to the far side of the room. I sat back up and found the pain of the strike quickly fading, I leaned my back against the door, now sitting on my ass, still barring his escape.

Dylan looked at me with fury and disgust, kept his distance, but he was still flushing and I sensed a heavy guilt that had nothing to do with the strike. He bunched his pants back up, found he couldn't even look at me from the burning guilt. He started pacing angrily, winding himself up to fight me out of the way, but for the moment he still didn't want to go near me.

"Dylan…" I tried coaxing. He didn't look over, kept up his pacing like a caged bear. "Dylan, _I need you_. Tell me what it is I have to do to convince you to stay. Just tell me." Begging was all I had left now.

He stopped, eyes on the floor, the waist of his pants still loose and drooping. He wouldn't speak. He was thinking very hard. I waited, let him think with mentally crossed fingers. Then he collapsed down into a sitting position on the bed, exhaling, and all the fight he'd been winding up left him. He stared forward with an empty expression, doing and saying nothing.

I trusted my senses, and I couldn't feel any anger coming off him. Just numbness. I waited another moment and when he still hadn't moved I got back on my knees and then shuffled over, carefully. Pause, no reaction. Another shuffle closer, no reaction. I shuffled closer still and he shut his eyes, almost as if trying to block me out, still numb.

Then I crept carefully between his legs and saw through the loose opening of his pants, that limp cock stuck to the side of his thigh with my saliva. I reached in and he tensed slightly at my touch, his only reaction to me so far. I put him back in my mouth, savoured, started bobbing my head again and pleasuring him.

Dylan didn't move. I didn't know what was going on with him. Was he about to snap out of this spell? Punch me? Make a break for the exit? I couldn't feel anything taut in him, he seemed slack, surrendered.

After a few moments more of me closing my eyes, enjoying him, he started to get hard.

I felt something burn inside me. It was deeply satisfying to kneel to this man, this beautiful creature. Kneel and give him pleasure. He deserved that, I felt. Dylan said nothing as he started to grow in my mouth, I bobbed my head more eagerly, encouragingly. His left foot slid forward a few inches. I was the one moaning, moaning and sucking on his pole as it got bigger and bigger. I pulled it out with a suction _pop_ and looked up at Dylan's face, wanting to see a love-drunk or lusty expression. His eyes were still closed, a strained look that didn't hide his secret enjoyment.

I moved my hand along his dick, wet and shiny from my spit. Kneeling between his thighs, I stroked it and saw him tensing, muscles contracting. It was now evident that Dylan's dick was quite thick and long. I could wrap two hands around the length easy, he was almost completely hard now.

This boy brought something out of me. Something depraved and animalistic. What he had I wanted bad, all of it. I wrapped my lips around his cock head, savouring in a state of worship, my hands feeling down the leather tight on his thighs. I moved faster and heard the first noise escape Dylan's lips, a gentle whimper. His hands clenched the bed sheet into fists and I kept going. _I need him_. I plunged his hard dick deep into my mouth, past my tongue, fought back the gag reflex, wormed it down my throat, holding breath, pushing deeper.

I slid all the way to the base and Dylan hollered, leaning back, a manly grunt-howl. His left leg started vibrating beside me. I closed my eyes and held him in my throat, clutching his body to me. Then I extracted, his long dick withdrawing from my mouth slowly so I could cough and cough, still stroking him off. When I looked up his eyes were finally open, those dark orbs burning into me through half-lids. Disgust at what I was doing but it was supressed by his arousal.

 _Yes, you're right. I am filthy. I will be for you._

I maintained the eye-contact and then dragged my tongue from the bottom of his shaft to the top, watching his eyes widen as I did it. Fear and guilt, he closed them again. I continued to service him. _Let this be the best blowjob you've ever had_ , I thought. Pulling it out and rubbing my tongue against the side of his cock and the groove of its head.

He did make noises, stifled groans. Sometimes he'd lean back, forward, clench, unclench. Move his feet. His left leg vibrated strangely a few more times. Fighting so hard to suppress the reactions he couldn't control. I wasn't just sucking him off. I was using my tongue, swirling, licking, activating all the parts, touching, trying hard. Trying hard to convince him.

After playing around for a bit I started going faster and more thorough, he gasped louder, that deep rumbling in his chest urging me onward, the muscles of his torso straining through that black shirt. Suddenly his thighs snapped open wider, legs going straight, his hand was on top of my head, pushing his cock deeper into me. My immediate reaction was to pull back but he was stronger, I gave in and continued the service.

"Oh shit! Oh God!" He was close. _Do this right. Make him want you to stay_.

I submitted. I felt around him, firm sucking and tongue-rubbing. Doing it thoroughly, properly. He clenched, unclenched, clenched. Gripping me so tightly it hurt. "Fuck!" He started thrusting into my throat. "Fuuuuuuck!" Dylan came and shot his semen into me.

I gagged on the outpour, his clenched fingers were ripping my scalp, that left foot pap-papping the floor. The taste overpowered me, I felt pain. When Dylan released me after the long, loud orgasm I leaned away from him. My face and hair was a mess of his cum, droplets on his pants and the floor. It felt like my scalp was bleeding from how hard he'd gripped me. He was panting, one eye on me and the other one closed. I'd accidentally swallowed a good gulp of his fluid, they stained my lips and chin. Saturated my tastebuds.

While Dylan came down from his thick, cloudy and oh-so-satisfying high I didn't feel so good right then. I felt degraded, injured, humiliated. But I also felt like he'd want to keep me around.

* * *

。Φ 。

* * *

 **AN: Yes! So this is different. This story is becoming quite smutty but not at all romantic, so far. I think it's interesting regardless to approach this from a different dynamic.**

 **Thanks again to IncompleteKid, who is so far my only reviewer.**


	4. 。Time to Farm!

。

Δ 。。。 _CHAPTER 4: Time to Farm!_ 。。。 Δ

。Φ 。

* * *

From where I knelt on the floor, grubby and sticky, I looked up at the boy sitting above me. He'd been panting for almost a full-minute, leaning back, head facing the roof so I could see the tanned shiny skin of those neck muscles, the line of his jaw, his clavicle by the loose hole of that black shirt. His prominent Adam's apple. His thighs were still apart, the brown leather tight, and his wilting cock was sagging over. Now in its semi-soft stage it was about as big as me at my best. This perfect male, this ideal specimen. I guess this is where all the 'good' men were hiding, by themselves in private sessions being sexy badasses.

All my senses were clogged by Dylan. His cum stained my tongue, lips and throat. His scent and cool sweat hooked into my nose. His warmth on the places of me he'd touched, in the brief moments he'd gripped me roughly. It wasn't pleasant nor was it unpleasant, but all I could taste-see-smell-feel-hear… was him. Overpowering. I licked my lips and swallowed, felt more of him going down. When the boy finally lowered his chin he looked at me, didn't turn away, and for once I couldn't guess what he was thinking. I only hoped he'd consider it worth it to keep me around – I'd be willing to whore for him if it would keep me safe, and it also didn't hurt that he was so good-looking anyway.

At the end of each breath his deep voice grumbled, a crackling fire-side voice. It was strangely erotic. I opened my mouth to say something but stopped, hesitated. What was the right thing to say right now? Pondering what angle I should take: light-hearted, challenging, sexual? Could I even be sexy to a guy like him? And if I try to act sexy, do I act sexy like a boy or sexy like a girl? He was still looking at me in that serious, thoughtful way. Still breathing out of his mouth. I tried saying something anyway.

"You alright there?" I blurted, friendly.

"Fuck you."

"Did you not like it?" I already knew that he had.

He pushed up enough to squirm his pants back up to his waist, I watched that dangly meat still dripping white as it was smooshed upward and then Dylan shoved a hand down to adjust it. Must feel crowded in your pants when you're packing. He did up the string. He wasn't talking, I wondered if he was still deciding. I was growing more anxious by each passing moment. Was he going to kick me out after all?

His mouth was hanging slightly open, he finally closed it. His dark eyes were shiny from the excitement. He cleared his throat before looking at me again, shuffling to sit back up against the wall with his forearms resting on his knees.

"You wanted to stay with me?"

"Yes." I was still on the floor, on my knees.

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared. I don't want to be here by myself." I watched him gaze across the room, frowning in thought.

"You know… I'm really not- I don't…" He struggled without making eye-contact and I watched him.

"You're not gay." I finished.

"No." He looked right at me. "I'm not. I don't want to fuck you. I _definitely_ don't want you to fuck me. I don't even want to see your dick, man."

"But you did like it." I repeated and watched him glower.

"If you _ever_ tried to fuck me, or show me your dick or… if you _ever_ touched my ass…" he raised his fist, the threat left unspoken, his eyes a dangerous mix of anger and fear. The outrage is what left him unable to finish his sentence.

"I wouldn't." I said blankly, trying to convey honesty, even though this guy didn't know me from Eve. "I promise you, Dylan." I leaned forward then, keeping my voice level and sincere. "I wouldn't do those things. Before… I uh… I was just scared. I don't normally, ever, do that to people."

He didn't look away from my open expression, as if he was trying to catch me out in a lie. The scan lasted for a few seconds before he slumped back a little, begrudgingly satisfied for the moment.

"I'm not gay."

"I believe you."

"I- I just…" He struggled, not able to find the words. Looking a little stricken.

"Enjoying a blowjob doesn't make you gay, Dylan. Your eyes were closed the entire time. You were thinking about what you were feeling, not about who was making you feel that way."

He looked a little relieved at that even though a hint of doubt remained. I could see the hidden sadness. It didn't matter, I just wanted to say whatever he wanted to hear so he'd keep me around. _If he'd keep me around_. Dylan looked down and picked at his thumbnail for a moment, a nervous-thinking habit. I waited for a while and then crept over, going for the gentle approach.

"Hey…" I touched his knee in a comforting manner.

He snapped to, that disgust returning to his features. Shifted away from me a bit.

"You can stay, Sean. It's Sean right?" He looked at me and I nodded. "You can stay with me for as long as I let you, as long as you do what I say, alright? I'm the boss and you just do what I say without complaining or being a weak shit. That's how it's gonna have to be if you want to survive here."

"Oh my God," I couldn't help blurting again in relief. "Thank you, Dylan! Thank you so much!" He shirked away from me again.

"So starting now I'm gonna sleep. You go over to that corner" he pointed to the one by the door, far-side and opposite the bed. "and stay there. I get the bed. If you try to touch me while I'm asleep, or again, I'll kill you." He promised with a harsh gaze.

"Yes…" I shrank back on my knees "…Sir."

That seemed to appease him. Dylan turned over, faced away from me. I hesitated and then started crawling over to the door, across the smooth stone floor. When I got there and turned around the other boy wasn't moving. It was kind of cold, but he was sleeping on top of the covers. I could've asked him to throw me the blankets he wasn't using, but I wasn't going to push for anything more from him yet. Who knows if he'd change his mind by morning.

I would not sleep soundly here in the cold stone corner where I could hear monsters moving about just outside that flimsy door. The horrible shriek and clicking of spiders, the bony clinking of skeletons and those horrible groans and growls… undead walking around with drooping rotten flesh. It made me shiver. I clenched my jaw shut and breathed quietly through my nose. Dylan wasn't moving and I couldn't tell if he was asleep or just resting.

I huddled up into a ball and lowered my head, all night nodding on and off, snapping to at the sound of a monster nearby, waiting and listening before nodding off again…

* * *

"Get up. It's morning." I awoke to Dylan's commanding tone.

The first thing I saw were the laces on his leather boots, he kicked the sole of my foot, I looked up to see the strong guy standing over me. Sunlight through the crack of the door. He opened it up and headed out. I reached up to rub both eyes, outrageously tired. I forced myself up anyway, my ass was stiff and sore. Flinging around the door before it closed and seeing Dylan marching off.

"Where are you going?" My voice hitched in panic.

"To bathe. Don't you dare follow. There's food in the furnace." He yelled this over his shoulder without stopping. His voice had a natural authority to it, I realised. I watched his steps, the straightness of his back, the strength in how he carried his shoulders – I felt a little giddy.

Turning back into the house I rubbed my crusty eyes again before crouching down and opening the furnace. Three cooked pork-chops sat inside, meaning he'd prepared them while I dozed off in the corner with my head against the wall. What had he been doing in the few seconds he had to wait for the meat to cook? Did he stand still and tap his foot while refusing to look at me… or had he taken the time to study me closely while I was zonked out?

I knew that I was attractive. My friends – the ones I couldn't remember clearly – had said as much over the years we'd spent together in co-op worlds. I'm sure they had. Plus I could see it. My wavy blonde hair, a gold-blonde, and clear blue eyes. Sharp features and my well-defined dark eyebrows. So even if Dylan didn't like men… he must have admitted to himself that I wasn't _bad_ to look at. Right?

Three meats were missing from my food bar and I'd been so tired that I didn't notice the hunger until I mentally scanned the row. I sucked the food into my extra-dimensional storage space and then willed a chop into my hand. It materialized, I took a bite of the cool stringy meat and chewed absent-mindedly. I wandered about the small room slowly, getting through one-and-a-half chops, still chewing on the second when Dylan returned to the house.

I could see droplets on his skin, that dark brown hair was darker and spikier, he ran a hand through it while sauntering inside.

"So…" I began a little awkwardly.

"We're going to work on the house today. I'm going to dig some more rooms in here and then at about midday I'm going to get more food. You're going to be collecting wood."

"A-alright." I watched him move about the house, not looking at me. "So we are building here?"

"Don't see why not." He shrugged again while bending his knees into a crouch by the crafting table. I noticed he wasn't looking directly at me.

"Cool… Guess I'll get started…" I wasn't sure how much we needed wood. Was it for aesthetics? Couldn't we just use stone if it's just for the interior? It occurred to me that Dylan probably was giving me this job so I'd stay out of his way and he'd have his space. Oh well. "Thanks for breakfast."

He grunted and I went to leave him to it. When I opened the door, hinges squeaking against the stone, he called out.

"Look out for creepers."

I headed outside feeling nervous and made sure my sword was in the easy-access row of nine, even though my first and only instinct would be to run. Run and go get Dylan. I used a wooden axe to chop up the nearby trees and after every few swings I'd stop and look around for any creeping green things. _Swing-chop, swing-chop, swing-chop_ … this was hard work. I grunted and the tree fell down, I stopped again and looked around. No creepers.

I chopped up all the surrounding trees, gradually making a clearing. Sweat was running down my back and I thought no wonder Dylan was in such a fine shape. Gathering your own resources was exhausting. I could hear him chipping away inside when I'd stop to listen, never seeming to stop or get tired: there was that frightening mechanical image of him again, those strong arms swinging the tool without hesitation. I transformed some of the oak wood trees into oak planks and then I created a crafting bench, fixing it into the ground behind me. Then I made some sticks and another wooden axe. _This crafting business isn't so bad_.

After cutting down and vanishing six or seven trees I had sixty-four blocks of wood. In my mind I calculated: four lots of sixty-four oak planks, two-hundred-and-fifty-six. I could still hear Dylan chipping away inside. I leaned against the crafting table, my arms were tired. I'm sure what I had was plenty. I didn't want to look lazy, or like a 'weak shit' as Dylan had put it, but gathering more wood seemed unnecessary at this point. I could stay out of his way without being distracted by manual labour. Frowning I stared across at the grassy expanse, wildflowers dancing in another gentle breeze.

I could get food. While chopping my fourth tree a white sheep had appeared close-by and was innocently munching on grass. I wouldn't attack it, but I stared away guiltily because I knew it'd probably be dead if Dylan stepped out and saw it. Shooing it away wouldn't really be accomplishing anything. It was still wandering in view, _baa_ -ing and pawing at the grass. That's when I got my idea.

I straightened up in delight. My food bar was going down but instead of starting on my last pork-chop I plucked out my lone red apple and took a bite. Crisp and sweet. Farming, I could do it – I'd never had to do it before but I knew the principles well enough. You uproot grass for seeds and then you hoe down dirt patches that are near water. Dylan went out to wash himself, there had to be water nearby. I took another bite of the apple before vanishing it away.

Moving out of view of the door I got down on all fours and started pulling up grass. Once uprooted the greenery vanished from within my fingers. For every five or six patches of grass that I pulled up while crawling around I got one handful of seeds. I moved around, tugging up grass and getting frustrated, dirt clogging up under my nails. I wanted about twenty seed handfuls but as the morning stretched on so did my embarrassment. What would Dylan say if he saw me crawling around digging for seeds when he'd told me to chop wood? The back of my neck and ears were flushing the more I imagined it, my pace harried, but then I just gave up with only thirteen.

I went back to the crafting table and built a wooden hoe, plucking it out of its hologram and adding it to my inventory. Then I looked past the tree-line and realised I'd have to leave the safety of the clearing. I told myself I'd be extra careful and manned the sword while stepping out into the trees. I walked around in a circular fashion, keeping the cliff in view. Jumping whenever an animal made a sudden noise nearby. I hated this – even being out in the day was frightening. What if I saw a skeleton hiding under a tree, bones plinking while it fired well-aimed arrows through my limbs? I kept looking this way and that, then suddenly I could make out the sound of water.

I didn't know if this was the same stream from yesterday or a new one. I pulled out the hoe and made my way past a couple of trees to the edge of the water. I looked around while raking down the dirt-edge of the river. Something caught my eye in the clear water: a clownfish darting along with the current. I blinked and then continued my work. When the ground was ready I buried the handfuls of seeds in each square metre of dirt. My hands were black and grimy with soil, I stepped back to admire my work and then frowned. No green sprouts to let me know that I'd done it right. I was pretty sure I'd done it right. I don't remember who had explained farming to me, but I was pretty sure this is how it was done.

I needed to clean myself. Dylan's residue had caked itself to my body in dried flaky patches. I stripped off completely and stepped into the cold running water. I scrubbed all over but could only stand the temperature for about a minute before getting out again. Dylan had stained my clothes as well but I didn't want to soak them since they were all I had. I settled for wetting the stains and rubbing the material together which sort-of worked. I had to dry off with grass – little bits of green stuck to my body all over.

As I was fitting my shoes back on I sprang up and around at the sound of horrid growling. A withered green corpse with sunken flesh stepped out from behind trees and moved toward me. It burst into flames when kissed by the sunlight and although it snarled furiously it still made for me with a single-minded hunger. I watched the brilliant fire that consumed its torso, blackening and charring the body beneath. Embers flecking off in streaks, fluttering down-wind. When it was ten paces away and I thought I could feel the warmth of the blaze, I turned and ran from the zombie. It followed with arms outstretched but was quickly left behind.

 _There's no reason to fear now_ , I told myself when I was back in our home clearing. My heart was beating not only fast but hard, rattling its cage of ribs. I could feel the fear in my eyes and the adrenaline rush coursing through my blood-stream. Dylan stepped out then and frowned at me.

"Where've you been?"

"I was… making a wheat farm. Down by the river." I said and his head cocked to the side.

"You were making a wheat farm?"

"Yeah, for food. I've already got enough wood." I watched him watch me and silently willed him not to be angry.

"I don't eat bread."

"Oh… why not?"

"Don't need to." He shrugged and looked at me curiously. "There's plenty of meat around."

"Well it's not just bread we can make with wheat. I'm sure there's other things too."

Dylan grunted then went back inside.

That was another way I could make him want me around. Sure he was fine with eating nothing but meat, and yet a cake or pumpkin pie every now and again would surely be a nice surprise. Aesthetics too, I'm good with building designs even if I'm not good with the actual gathering of resources. My style is very modern-luxury with tasteful touches. I'm sure I could do all these little things for Dylan, things he wouldn't consider worth the effort but that he'd appreciate nonetheless.

He left the door open and I peered around to get a look. The interior looked a lot more spacious, he'd been expanding in separate areas, making rooms it looked like. There was a second bed not attached to Dylan's but about four blocks away from it. Between them was a tiny alcove, one block in space, I wondered if Dylan was going to build a wall for separate bedrooms or if he'd started but changed his mind.

"Come in." Dylan said suddenly and I realised he'd been able to sense me lingering by the doorway. "I might as well show you a few things with the crafting bench. It's about time for a lunch break anyhow."

He was definitely a weird guy. Came off as brash and unconcerned but in his own way he made small nice gestures. He left me with food, he'd killed another sheep to make me a bed, and even though he promised to let me stay around he was going to teach me things anyway. Dylan still seemed on guard with me but I had said I wouldn't go rubbing against him again. If he didn't want me to. His random reluctant kindness served to intrigue me even more. He was beginning to fascinate me. I walked in, wanting to hear more of his gruff voice, wanting to be close enough to smell him, breathe the same air, eye that bulge in his pants when he's not looking and wish it was in my mouth again with my knees on the floor.

* * *

。Φ 。

* * *

 **AN: Thanks IncompleteKid! Thanks anon 'bored' although I hope you're not bored by my story? Thanks anon 'Guest' even though your question mark makes you look unsure as to whether this story really is neat or not. I hope you're all enjoying it and will continue to review!**


End file.
